


Love Bites

by GhostOakes



Category: IT, IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, Pennywise - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Love Bites, M/M, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOakes/pseuds/GhostOakes
Summary: A slow-build 'x Reader' fic where you travel to Derry in order to get your thrills out. You end up with a whole lot more than you bargained for, and you're willing to do anything to survive.





	1. Welcome to Derry

The bus ride is less romantic than you’d hoped for. Despite there being numerous empty seats, you’ve had a bus-mate crowding your space for the past five hours of the trip. Your bladder feels as cramped as your legs do right now. Your thighs ache a bit from trying to keep yourself in as compact of a shape as possible, but eventually you give in and rub knees with the man beside you. He doesn’t seem to care, so you decide that you don’t really care all that much either.

All of the frustration starts to melt away when you see an older wooden sign come into your field of view. Leaning your forehead against the sun-warmed bus window you can make out the words clear as day.

“WELCOME to DERRY!” the sign declares in flowing brush script. A childlike, swirly sunshine and spindly pines amiably surrounded the slogan. A cutout of an axe wielding lumberjack stood to one side of the script with his axe on his shoulder and his other hand shielding his eyes as if to survey the morning sun. You recognize the lumberjack to be Paul Bunyan, and you only know this due to the amount of times you researched the place.

Sitting a little straighter you take a deep breath of stale bus air and pretend that you’ve filled your lungs with the fresh air outside. Your bus-mate, an overweight man wearing a black t-shirt and faded navy-blue cargo shorts, also takes a deep breath and adjusts in his seat. You welcome the slight freedom of not having his pasty thigh invade your space any longer, and drop your eyes to your lap. Your phone has been silent since this early morning when you’d gotten on the bus.

You turn your phone over in your hands a few times and then turn it on, looking through the messages for a twelfth time. Still nothing. You decide to open up your blog and leave an update.

‘Nearly there!’ you type, and add a couple smiling emojis to it for effect. Staring at it, you delete the one emoji and add a snail emoji. That looked better, more personable. You hit post, refresh, and refresh again. With a sigh, you turn your phone over in your lap and look back out the window at the passing scenery.

A mixture of bur oaks and beech crowd the side of the highway, leaving a faint strip of slate grey in the evening sky for you to peek up at. The road itself is two lanes with a weed encrusted shoulder and a sloping ditch- nothing fancy and it certainly didn’t remind you of the highway. You were heading into an older place, that was for sure.

“You going to Derry?” the man beside you asks. You sit up from your slouched posture and turn your head away from the scenery. He’s been silent this entire trip safe for the occasional snore or throat clearing. He’s mostly been playing on his phone or reading a thick paperback book.

“Oh, um,” you start, sitting up straight. “yeah. Going to stay here a while.”

He snorts, not looking at you. You can see one of his eyebrows go up in a judgmental way. Heat races up your neck and burns the tips of your ears and you rub your palms together. You’ve never been fond of confrontation, even small shit like this. It just eats you up inside.

“Is there something wrong with that?” you say, but your voice comes out timider than you hoped.

“Yeah. Everything.” he says, turning the page of his book. The cover of it is bent back and some of the pages are dog eared.

Your ears are still burning and you look at your phone absentmindedly. It’s six in the evening and you’re hungry- you’ve still got to check into the AirBnB you booked. The host said they’d wait until 8 o’ clock if need be, but you don’t think you’ll take that long. Besides, you can see the beginnings of town life already.

Between stands of beech and maple trees you can see a few houses here and there. Big, unfenced yards with car ports and slightly aged vehicles out front. Some of them have a few kid’s toys scattered across the lawn and most had trash bins set by the faded plastic mail boxes. The bins are a shade of hunter green and read “Derry Municipal Dept” on the sides in military stencil. Some are nearly washed off, some look fresh.

You open up your phone again and send a text to the host of the AirBnB you booked several weeks ago.

‘Be there shortly, just passed the welcome sign.’

You hit send and stare at the screen a moment, then return to sightseeing. Some of the homes have rusty lean-tos packed with either hay or junk, some have the sparse well-loved trampoline that the parents must have saved up for several Christmases ago. The road curves up a hill and around a meadow that has some old stakes with sun-bleached colored tags on them. An abandoned construction project most likely, more housing or something commercial.

“You’re going to see some haunted shit, huh?” the man says. He couldn’t be more than thirty years old, but you can’t really be sure. He shuts his book and stuffs it in an old back pack that looks like it was bought in the 90s. “My grandma useta live in Derry, then all these people started showing up around 2005 and… renovating.” He sneered, as if the word was bitter in his throat.

“Why’d she leave?” you venture, but you have a hunch.

The man’s face relaxed from its pinched, constipated look. “Couldn’t afford it anymore. She got some big offer on her place- way more than it’s worth- and ended up moving down to Bangor. She likes it better down there, says it’s… eh. Whatever.” He shrugged and rubbed his neck. You have a feeling he’s been sitting on these emotions for a while. Not that you can really blame him.

He sits back and looks away from you, and you do the same. The outskirts of Derry are starting to take shape for you now. Houses are more closely packed, sometimes spaced by the occasional pole barn meant to sell fireworks or tractor equipment. A few cars populated the road, some looking newer and some still looking a bit dated. You think about what the man said, how people showed up an ‘renovated.’ At your age, you’ve become accustom to the other word for it: gentrified. You wince inwardly and rest your chin on your palm. You begin to wonder if this trip was going to live up to your personal hype. Nervously, you tap your fingers on your bottom lip and jaw, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

You’d done a lot of research on the area and its tragedies (none of which had been easy to dig up). Your perseverance that some would call obsession netted you important information regarding eyewitness accounts and personal stories as far back as the 1800s.

In all honesty, you’d hoped for a more small-town feel than what you saw out the bus window right now. In photographs, Derry had been painted as vibrant and the blue-collar’s haven with sheep farms and public works projects in the process of ‘beautifying’ the town. However, as the tired greyhound bus snored through the asphalt patched streets you couldn’t help but feel almost offended at the sight of a Sprout’s with a brand-new parking lot and a Jamba Juice next door. People who looked like people you saw in your own town were walking up and down the sidewalks, talking and enjoying the balmy September evening.

It was so… plain. Your nose wrinkles against your better judgement and you feel yourself sitting back in your seat with some sort of resentment.

“Not what you thought?” the man said, uncomfortably close to your ear. You lean away reflexively and turn your head.

“No. Not really. It’s cute though.” You offer, trying to find both sides of the coin. You can’t help but find yourself in some sort of solidarity with the man at this point, despite his issues with personal space.

He snorted again, but it was a noise of agreement. As if he knew that you, too, would rather have a shitty run-down town than this commercialized charmless suburb. You give him a sideways glance and he apologetically leans away.

“Cute, sure. At least they kept the ‘spirit’ of the place alive by restoring downtown’s pubs and shit. This town was never that friendly, you know. I didn’t grow up here but I visited a lot. My Grandma was nice, but everyone else? Nah. None of this… café shit.” He waved his hand aimlessly around him.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. He gives you a look and then rests his hands back in his lap.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. There’s a carnival that’s supposed to start up in a couple days, so. I guess that.” He shrugged. It sounded as if he’d just now decided.

You study his face. He’s not particularly ugly or handsome. He is chubby with an oval face and a strong, round chin. Hair dark and short cropped, high cheek bones and a round nose. His eyebrows are thick and dark, matching his dark eyes. You notice that despite his pale knees his skin has a light ruddy tan to it, especially on his face and forearms.

“You came all the way up here for a carnival?” you say, and can’t help but smile a bit.

He glances at you and notices your expression. A smile creeps across his face, too.

“Sounds kinda dumb, huh? I don’t know. I useta go every year with my grandma. I guess I want to say goodbye.” He looks away from you again. The quiet is punctured by the rattle of the bus as it bumps over pot holes.

You look away as well, unsure what he meant by that.

You put it on the mental back burner as you see a neon bus sign hanging outside a small grey brick building. It’s nestled in between a mixture of restored brick buildings and a few newer, stone colored buildings. One appears to be a relatively new bank and you make a mental note to stop by at some point. As the bus starts to slow and creak into wide turns, you gather up your backpack. You’ll have to grab your suitcase from the undercarriage of the bus, and you hope everything made it here in one piece.

Your bus mate slaps his knees and gets up, bringing a well-worn duffle bag with him as he shuffles off the bus. Getting up, you edge out into the bus aisle and take a moment to stretch your legs. Your thighs are tight and your calves are stiff from sitting so long, but you’re thankful that the trip is finally over. Only you and a handful of others are getting off at the Derry station. You wonder if the bus will continue its route even if it was empty until you realize that people may be getting on the bus. May be escaping.

Escaping? That wasn’t the right word, was it? Rubbing your forehead, you stand in line and resist making a face at the sour stink of the station. Bus exhaust, a faint smell of stale piss, and the rotten sweet odor of an overflowing garbage can clog your nose. Hunger had clawed at your belly just moments before but now with all the scents and noise- you really just wanted to get home.

Your pocket buzzes and you pull out your phone instinctively. Unlocking it and squinting at the screen you read the new text- it’s from your AirBnB host.

‘In the parking lot, saw the bus pull up. In a black escalade.’ It reads.

‘Alright, thanks. Getting bag now.’ You send back, and pocket your phone again. Irritability has crept into your skull like pond scum closing in on a lake.

Your bag is finally back in your hands and you hurry away from the stinking bus. Maybe the hunger was making you cranky, but something was definitely off. You wanted to be in a house already and lay down in a clean bed. Away from stink, away from noise.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot you shut your eyes and take a deep breath to try and clear your buzzing brain. Just overwhelmed is all, you tell yourself. Just need a snack and a good nap. A bus ride that long won’t do anybody any favors. Could probably use a shower, too.

As if the five seconds to take a few deep breaths were all you needed to clear your head, you open your eyes and immediately spot the imposing black vehicle. The woman looking down at her phone looks like any other woman you’d ever see. White, tall, blonde. Tunic-style top with billowy sleeves and charcoal grey slacks, some cute flats and a bag over her shoulder. She looks like the profile picture from the site, thank goodness.

“Miss Kennedy?” you try, approaching somewhat slowly unless you picked the wrong black escalade and wrong woman. She looks up, brown eyes meeting yours for a moment. She smiles, her face open and inviting. She reminds you of realtors.

“Yes, hi! Are you the one who booked the little place over on West Broadway?” she asks, pocketing her phone and extending a hand to shake. You shake it gently, not too fond of her cool and slightly clammy skin.

“Uh, 105 West Broadway, yeah? That should be me!” you smile and put your hand in your pocket to feel your phone- it was like a security blanket. The only thing that kept you connected to the outside world in this little town.

The woman nods. “Alright, well, put your things in the back here. You look exhausted- taking the bus is never easy. I used to ride when I was in college- ugh! I’m sure you’re gonna love it here, people always do. They always come back!” she chatters, and presses a button on her key fob. The back of the escalade clunked open and you set your bags down. You notice some brown pine needles in the rough grey carpet, and what looked like some sandy grains. Perhaps Miss Kennedy went hiking a lot! The scenery out this way was awfully pretty in the fall.

_Or she was transporting a body._

A frown tugs your lips down. Why did that thought even cross your mind? She was a nice woman. You’ve been reading too many murder mysteries or something.

You shut the back door carefully and make your way back to the front of the giant vehicle- the passenger side is already open for you. She’s waiting in the driver’s side, engine idling quietly and the A/C blowing cool air. It’s fresh smelling and the clean car interior relaxes your frayed nerves. As soon as you shut the door you start to feel a little calmer.

A soft click sounds out as she plugs in her phone and then sets it in the cup holder. You shut your eyes a moment, feeling dizzy.

“You alright?” she asks, and you open your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just kinda tired and hungry.” You offer a weary smile and hope that she doesn’t want to small talk all the way to the house.

“Oh, we should have stopped into the Falcon Bar, it’s right by the bus station. Friendly crowd, they have the best drinks too.” She giggles.

Your polite smile wobbles and your face feels tired. “I may just order some pizza, I’m absolutely beat.” You say, and silently thank her for starting to drive. You peer out at the sky and realize the blue has scabbed over with rolling grey clouds, their dark bellies sagging with rain.

Checking your phone, you see that the forecast calls for a storm this evening. At least it’ll help you get to sleep. You hope.

The woman hums in agreement. “There’s a domino’s here, they changed the way they do sausage and frankly I like it. Or if you want something different, there’s a place called Jason’s. They’re slow on the delivery but their pizza is amazing, especially their margarita pizza.”

You understand she’s just being helpful, but you want her to be quiet. A small twinge behind your eyes threatens a deeper, more menacing headache in a few hours and you don’t want her tinny voice to expedite the issue.

“Oh yeah, heard Domino’s changed their style. I’ll have to order some.” You say and nod, looking down at your phone. Still quiet, no messages. No wi-fi either.

“Yeah! Yeah. Oh, I left a binder on the counter, it should have all the info you need to get around Derry. Not such a little town anymore, always surprises people. Are you here for the fair?” she asks, taking her eyes off the road to glance at you.

“Uh, yeah! And-“ you wrack your brain, trying to come up with something other than “ghost hunting.” You wince, realizing the words slipped out of your mouth before you had time to stop it.

Her eyebrows shoot up nearly to her hairline. “Ohh, one of those urban explorers then.” She says, and you can’t help but notice the slight change in her tone. Was it resentment? Disappointment?

“Uh, yeah, kinda like that. It’s more for…” you chew your lip. Come on, you need a more interesting lie. Soul searching? To get your kicks while the wanderlust was still in your system? “Research. Family research.”

Her eyebrows lower and you spot something like relief on her face. “Ohh, that sort of ghost hunting. Well, the house has wi-fi, the password is in the binder. And there’s maps, the library and city center here should have a lot of information for you.”

You nod and say thanks, looking out the window at the passing scenery. A mixture of greenery and arguably handsome brick and stone buildings line the narrow street. Sometimes the town opens up into a mini suburb between strips of commercial properties. You spy a few shops you want to nose around in later.

Finally, the commercial area breaks into residential and you take in the green and brown lawns, the kids walking to and from each other’s’ houses. The big vehicle turns down West Broadway and your heart starts to pound. You’d seen the little two bedrooms, one bath house in the pictures but this was it! You were going to be living here for the next few months. Maybe you could talk the woman into selling it to you. Maybe you could live here.

Your nose wrinkles. _Live here?_ What on earth were you thinking. You were here for a few months and you were gone, that’s all you planned for. You’d saved up a sweet little nest egg for this trip and you weren’t going to blow it all on moving your ass permanently to Derry.

You had stories to write. History to read. Trails to hike. _Bodies to find._ People to interview. Ghosts to chase. _Monsters to hunt._

_Twinge._

You rub your forehead and sit up in the escalade’s seat. When you look back out the window again you’re greeted by the white obelisk of the Derry standpipe looming like a stoic giant over the street. To your horror, the car was slowing to turn into a short concrete drive.

Yes, this was the house. 105 was beside the blue door in big brassy letters. It was quaint and rather cute, the siding was whitewashed and the roof looked new, the gutters clean with thoughtfully placed gutter-guards keeping out any stray leaves from the big beech trees that shaded the small lot. There was a privacy fence around the small spot, keeping the little home cozy and hidden from the neighbors on either side and behind it. In front of it was the standpipe and small walking park. A big fountain and bird bath could be seen as well and you made a mental note to go exploring tomorrow if it wasn’t storming out.


	2. The Shower

“Alright, we’re here! Here’s your pass code- there’s a copy in the binder inside too, try not to lose it.” She smiles at you. You thank her and hop out- she checks her phone again while you grab your bags.

Under the tiny car port is a side door that leads directly into the kitchen from what you can see. Beneath the plain silver handle is a key pad, the backlight is currently red. You punch in the code she gave you and hit the pound symbol. After a millisecond of worry, the light blinks green and a heavy sounding deadbolt clunks free. You give Miss Kennedy a thumbs-up, signaling that everything worked smoothly. She leaves after seeing you safely enter the house.

It was as cozy as you were hoping. Setting your two bags down and kicking off your shoes feels like a welcome release after all your traveling. Immediately you nose about the kitchen and admire the clean stainless-steel appliances. Everything is sparkling clean, not a fingerprint in sight. The cupboards are sparsely stocked with basic supplies- salt, pepper, some cooking oil, bread. There’s a few cans of soup and some veggies as well. In the fridge is a few bottles of water, a half carton of eggs, and an unopened pack of deli meat. The woman was kind to leave you a few basic groceries starting out and you promise to make use of them at some point.

For now, you locate the aforementioned binder on the counter. The cover says “Welcome to Derry!” and the inside flaps are neatly labeled. You flip the laminated sheets over until you find a list of delivery foods in the area. A few pizza places, a couple Chinese places. You look up one of the places on your phone and input your order, paying online with a card. As if aware of your choice in food, your stomach grumbles noisily and makes your jaws feel tight.

Now that your food situation was resolved, you go back to looking about the home.

The decoration is plain but cohesive and inviting; most of the home’s color palette is warm greys and tans. The wooden floor is so polished you can practically see your reflection, and the stressed grey wood has a lot of character to it. You rock back on your heels, taking in all of the divots and scratches in the antique flooring. Thunder rumbles quietly outside.

The bedrooms both have a full-sized bed in them with plain bedding. You pick the one with more windows and sit down on the edge of it. A heavy tiredness crawls over your eyelids. It feels good to sit and not move.

Restlessness stirs you, however, and you stand up again. Something about this home felt off to you, as if you’re being watched. Goosebumps creep over your skin and you shiver. Perhaps setting up your ‘research station’ would be better. The silence in the house is deafening and you feel a strange sense of loneliness prickling at your scalp. Turning around to look back at the bed proves there is nothing there, which is to be expected.

Your face prickles. Stop it, you think to yourself, you’re freaking yourself out. It’s just you. The doors are locked.

When you turn around again you flinch and a rush of air expels from your lungs. Your heart leaps up into your mouth and you stumble back a couple steps. For just the briefest of moments, the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door had given you a nasty startle.

“Fuck, really?” you grumble, frustrated but also amused with yourself. You open the door back up and pause. You hadn’t shut it when you came in, right?

The doorknob feels cold in your grasp. You let go, stepping back to see if it shut on its own- crooked hinges, perhaps.

The door stays still and you feel your heart start to pick up again.

“I’m just tired. There’s nobody here but me.” You say out loud, as if to convince yourself.

No one responds. Of course, because you’re alone.

Your head is throbbing- and has that ringing in your ears always been there? Suddenly there’s a ticklish tightness in your chest and it’s hard to breathe in. You shut your eyes but everything is starting to eat at you. The hum of the fridge in the other room. The soft rumble of thunder outside sounds cacophonous to you. Even the lights’ buzzing sounds like angry wasps.

You press your palms to your ears and try to breathe in slow, even breaths. When you open your eyes everything is too bright. Too sharp. To clear.

You shut your eyes again as tight as you can, stars showing up in your vision and the bridge of your nose aching. You press your palms harder to your ears until all you can hear is your breathing and-

Ding-dong!

Your eyes snap open and everything is fine. No buzzing. Your lungs take in air easily. A lightly throbbing headache remains.

You make your way to the front door with a huff, irritated that you can’t get a grip. Too many ghost stories.

It’s the delivery person- a young woman who looks tired and smells a little like cigarettes. She offers a wan smile and you smile back tightly. Neither of you are feeling top tier, it seems. You sign the receipt she hands you and add a three-dollar tip. Her smile seems a little more genuine for that and the hot box of pizza is in your hands now. Shutting the door with your foot, you set the box down on the kitchen island.

You eat a piece carefully, making an attempt not to burn your chin on hot cheese. The food in your mouth immediately loosens some of your wound-up nerves- even the headache starts to subside.

“Thank god for food.” You say to no one, and sigh around the bite in your mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Belly full and leftovers put away, you grab your bags from the kitchen and bring them to the bedroom you chose. It was time to get the bus stink off of your skin and out of your hair. The fluffy white duvet on the bed dented pleasantly as you plopped your bags upon it. Unzipping it felt like opening a capsule from home- it still had the scents of home and you briefly feel a bit bereft. Derry was to be your home now, at least for a little while.

The bathroom was just big enough to comfortably spend time in, and the shower looked clean. It was a claw foot tub with a plain off-white wrap around shower curtain. A small rectangular window high up on the wall let in a little natural light and helped make the room seem a bit bigger.

Pulling the curtain back you’re greeted with a welcome sight of a clean tub with an over-the-curtain-rod hanging basket for your toiletries. A couple of puffy wash cloths were set out for you along with a towel as well; you have a moment of gratefulness as you put the towel where you can easily reach it after you bathe.

Steam and blissful white noise fills the bright bathroom as you wait for the water to reach a skin-cleansing temp. The mirror fogs up and a sudden unease fills you to your core. With the mirror fogged over you can’t help but feel like one of your senses is blocked. Of course, you’re alone in the bathroom, right? Then why do you feel like you’re being watched?

Nonsense. You’re still spooked from the panic attack (or whatever happened) earlier and the doors.

Shaking your head, you undress and step into the steaming shower. Tension leaves your neck and shoulders as the water beats over your skin and cascades down your body in a sheet of warmth. With the constant hiss of the shower helping you focus your thoughts elsewhere, you shut your eyes and start to lather up your hair and body. You can practically feel the grime of the bus coming off your body and your mood starts to lift.

Soap suds tickle as they slide over your body and swirl down the drain. When you open your eyes, your heart drops down into your belly.

On the other side of the shower curtain is a shadow. Tall, nearly as tall as the curtain rod. You feel frozen, goosebumps prickling up your legs and arms and crawling over your scalp. You can’t even blink water from your eyes, you definitely don’t want to break your line of sight from whoever that is on the other side of the curtain.

You’re vaguely aware of a stench filling the previously clean scented bathroom. The stink of an animal on the side of the road- broken, bloated, busted. There’s some other scent mixed in, but the reek of death and dried blood is enough to make your stomach roll. Suddenly, the leftover pizza taste in the back of your throat is too much, and your jaw starts to water.

You can’t speak, afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll do nothing but spew your earlier meal all over the clean white curtain.

Instead, you slowly reach for the shadow. Your fingers are trembling and your body is so stiff you can feel a cramp in your shoulders. You don’t know what you’ll do if you pull the curtain back and someone is there. The tremble travels up your arm, through your chest. You can feel your heartbeat in every inch of your skin, but especially in your chest and neck.

Your fingertips barely touch the curtain when you feel a cold, tight grip on your ankle. Now you make a sound, a ticklish fearful squeal peals out of your tight throat and your stomach lurches again. You try to jerk your leg away and feel yourself flailing as your heel squeaks across the floor of the tub. A fistful of shower curtain does nothing for your falling body and your cheek slams against the side of the tub. White sparks fly in your vision and at first you don’t feel the pain, then it begins to throb deeply and in time with your heart.

“Fuck-“ you grunt, and hold your face. When you sit up, you see that a wash cloth is hanging off your foot. You whip your head around to look for the shadow, but there’s nothing there. The curtain is flung back, and there’s still nothing there- though you notice something that makes your skin crawl with the bugs of paranoia.

A smiley face, complete with a round nose, is present in the bathroom mirror's steamed over glass. You can see the smear of dirt left behind by some unknown hand.

 _Welcome to Derry_ , you think.

You end up throwing up in the tub after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this update! I plan on updating on Saturdays/Sundays from here on out. That way i have plenty of time to type and proofread my own stuff too.
> 
> Thanks for the comments, kudos, and hits! <3
> 
> -Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a long fic in a good while, so I hope you all like it! Tried to keep the reader in a gender-neutral light as possible so everyone can interpret it how they like. I know this first chapter isn't anything wildly exciting but I find it important to set the scene and tone of my writing, so with your support I'll happily continue on to the juicy stuff!
> 
> I may upload more tonight, but definitely will be adding the next chapter tomorrow. Hope you guys like it!
> 
> Much love - Ghost


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